Nurse
by TheRazzleDazzleDame
Summary: A story in which a young Boba takes care of a sick Jango. Father/son cuteness


(A/N: This is just something I thought of the night before last. I don't know everything about Jango Fett, but he is one of my favorite characters in the SW universe lol. So bear with me. I've done some research (not that I'll really need it for this story, this is just me blowing off some steam). I hope I kept Jango in character. If he's not, blame it on fever. If you can't do that, blame me. lol :) Enjoy.)

Don't own anything that isn't mine.

* * *

The floor wouldn't stop moving. Gloved hands desperately reached for _something_ to hold onto, but only found air. Air didn't keep you from falling on your face.

Jango Fett felt his body hit the floor, but barely. His vision was spinning too much for him to focus on anything else – or, to focus on _anything_ period. He stared through his helmet at the _Slave_'s tiled floor, realizing he was losing consciousness.

The bounty hunter forced his arms to obey him, using them to push himself off the floor. The ship was landing, and he had to gather his supplies, walk to his room, put the supplies _up_, then get to the part he had been looking forward to since he had left a week prior.

Dark curls and a wide smile entered his mind and he couldn't help but smile, despite the spinning. Boba would be expecting him, no matter how late it was. So, Jango forced himself to stand. Just as he got himself situated, the ship shook; it had landed on the pad. Jango grabbed onto something – the pilot's chair? – but fell to his knees anyway.

He began pulling himself up using the chair – which he had been glad to see that it was in fact the pilot's chair – only to fall back down. His arms, all the way to his fingertips, were numb. He tried again, this time realizing they weren't numb, but weak. Jango saw his vision was blackening again and shook his head as hard as he could. It did nothing for his dizziness, but the blackness lining his vision shrank away slightly.

Somewhere in Jango's mind he was telling himself something was wrong, but that part was lost in the spinning. He looked up to check if his arms were still on the chair. They were, somehow, and Jango felt something like relief. He knew he was in trouble, even if he didn't know exactly how much or even _how_. As he lowered his head, he felt nauseous all of a sudden.

He needed to get off the ship.

Jango allowed himself a few moments to take a couple of deep breaths, though. He didn't particularly feel like throwing up at the moment; especially when he didn't think he could pull his helmet off in time. The thought didn't sit well with him…

Jango slowly began crawling up the chair – his stomach calming for the moment – willing his arms to obey him. He made it to his feet but felt his legs shaking, threatening to take him down again. Jango made himself – despite the nausea, dizziness and over all confusion – walk to the exit of the _Slave_, hit the code and wait for the door to open.

The hatch opened and Jango felt almost happy. He took a step out onto the platform, trying to keep as slow a pace as he could. The rain pounded on his helmet, and he found the noise…distracting. The thought gave way to another; he was glad he had his armor on otherwise he'd be completely soaked. After a few more calculated steps, Jango felt his body start to shake. His jaw clamped shut, trying to control any chattering of teeth to start. Luckily he had enough control left to keep his arms at his sides instead of hugging himself. He didn't have time for this.

Jango looked forward, seeing a large, familiar doorway.

* * *

Boba Fett did not want to go to sleep. The six year old was too worried about his father, who had been away for a week now, to even try to fall asleep. But the Kaminoans had a strict rule about bed-time, especially for Boba. It was eight o' clock every night. Now that he thought about it, his dad always put him to bed at eight, too…

_Where is he?_ Small hands squeezed into fists. His dad had been away before, but rarely over four days. It had been a full seven. He didn't know why he was worrying; his dad was the best bounty hunter alive, so no one could touch him. Boba had also heard that his dad had taken bounties before that took him a month to finish; a week was nothing. The thought made his chest ache, though, so he didn't think about it for too long.

The thought didn't do much to appease Boba after that. He'd already thought of it, so it had lost what little effect it had on him the first time. Especially after imagining his dad being away for a whole month…

The very familiar sound of a door opening caused the boy to sit up in his bed, his covers flying onto the floor. He smiled, not even bothering to pull on his slippers as he ran to the door.

Dad was home.

Boba swung open the door, surprised all the lights were still off. Why didn't his dad turn on the light? He couldn't see in the dark…

The boy felt stupid as he remembered his father's helmet. His helmet could see in the dark for him, so the light being on or off didn't matter. Boba started forward, realizing he _couldn't_ see in the dark, for he had no helmet to see for him. He ran his hand against the wall, remembering a light switch was near. A small "a-ha" escaped him as he found the small button.

The room was instantly illuminated and Boba smiled at the sight of his father's armored form standing near the door way. "Dad," the boy all but squealed as he ran toward the bounty hunter.

Boba ran headfirst into his father's middle, wrapping his small arms around him, not caring his armor and clothes were wet. The boy's arms didn't go all the way around, so he grabbed onto his dad's wet shirt, keeping himself firmly pressed against Jango's stomach. He looked up into the familiar T-shaped visor and grinned.

* * *

Jango stepped in the door, trying to stay quiet. He had thankfully stopped the shivering, making staying quiet that much easier. He knew trying to stay silent was useless, though. Boba would probably hear him breathing if he didn't hear the door slide closed. The boy had pretty good hearing; something Jango knew would come in handy as he grew older. The _Mando'ade_ heard small feet hit the floor, followed by the sound of those feet running. It stopped, and then started again.

Boba's small hand was sliding across the wall, searching for the light switch. Then,

"A-ha!"

Jango smiled, despite how the black room was beginning to resemble a whirl-pool. His smile disappeared as a sudden wave of nausea hit his weak form. Jango did his best to keep it at bay, or at least until he was in his own room. He wanted to appreciate his son's welcome as much as he could. He'd missed this, even if he was only gone one week. He wasn't going to waste it.

Light filled the room and Jango watched the small figure dart toward him.

"Dad!" Jango had wanted to hear that voice – he hadn't even realized how badly. The smile returned, and he was glad he had his helmet on. He probably looked like an idiot.

Jango felt Boba run into him, then small arms wrapped around his middle, pulling him close. He stopped breathing for a moment, realizing he had forgotten how his little boy felt. The hunt hadn't been that difficult, just far away. Why was he feeling this way? Jango felt his son's hands clench the fabric of his shirt, pulling himself _tighter_ against the older Fett.

Then he looked up and grinned. Jango realized he still wasn't breathing. He inhaled, trying not to make it too obvious he needed oxygen, and fought off the urge to sway.

Boba's grin faltered and he looked away from Jango's face to his middle. Jango felt his heart rate speed up. What was wrong? Was Boba hurt? Was he sick? Had something happened while he was away? Boba removed his arms and lightly pressed his hands into his father's middle – where the armor stopped, just above the belt – his eyes staring straight ahead with grim determination.

Big brown eyes looked up questioningly. "Dad, are you sick?" Boba pressed a little bit harder, the action doing nothing for Jango's nausea. What was he doing? "You're hot…" Jango felt his eyebrows rise. Boba was checking his temperature? Could he feel it through his clothes?

Jango was at a loss for words for a moment. _Could_ he get sick? He hadn't taken off his helmet for most of the trip, and when he had it was on the _Slave_. Jango thought hard for a few moments. He stopped when everything started getting fuzzy…

"Dad," Boba gasped. Jango realized he had fallen against the wall. Luckily he was still – barely – on his feet. He looked down through bleary eyes at his son. Yeah. Definitely sick. He had a fever, which explained the shivering, and possibly the dizziness. Jango cursed mentally as he began pushing himself off the wall.

"I'm fine," he said as he stood upright. Jango fell back slightly, his arm keeping him from the wall. "Just tired."

Boba didn't look convinced.

"What?" Jango began to feel nauseous again. Not good.

"Come on," Boba said as he grabbed his father's hand, pulling him towards his bed room. "You always make me go to bed when I'm sick."

Jango would have sighed if he could. Instead, he weakly said, "I'm not sick."

Boba didn't respond, but kept pulling him forward. Somehow Jango managed to keep from stumbling and falling. The dizziness was getting worse…

When they arrived in the bedroom Boba, all the while still holding his father's hand, jumped on the bed and urged Jango to lie down. Jango, unable to do otherwise, sat down on the bed. He felt small hands press against either side of his helmet.

"You've got to – "

The seal was released and his helmet slid off. Jango was shocked his son knew how to unseal his helmet from his body suit…he didn't remember showing him that. The helmet was placed on the small nightstand by the bed with the utmost care, and then Boba began to remove his shoulder plates.

"Boba, let me do that." Jango raised his hand to help his son, realizing how hard it was to keep his arm up. He ignored it. "I'm not that – "

The small boy swatted his hand away, looking frustrated. For a six year old the kid was pretty expressive. He pulled his hand to his father's face, placing his knuckles to his cheek. "Dad, you're burning up."

Jango stared at his son for a long moment, not sure if he should be angry or touched. Boba began on the shoulder plates again; rolling his eyes, he ignored his father's shocked face. Jango did his best not to chuckle, turning his attention to the floor.

The queasiness had only worsened, and Jango shut his eyes. Maybe if there was nothing to look at the spinning would stop, therefore the nausea would subside.

No such luck. If anything, the nausea had gotten _worse_. He stood, hoping he hadn't hurt Boba in his haste, and rushed to the bathroom. Jango barely made it. He fell to the floor on his hands and knees, vomiting in the entrance to the bathroom. Jango hadn't done _that_ since…he couldn't even remember since. He sat there for a few moments, panting, and then he started to stand.

His legs wouldn't support him, however, so he ungracefully fell back on the floor, somehow still on his hands and knees. Jango was thankful for that, at least. He began again, this time forcing his legs to obey him. Just as he actually stood – or as close to actually standing as he could get at that moment – he began to sway. Cursing, he braced for the fall.

Jango felt small arms wrap around his waist, keeping him upright. He tried to keep as much weight off Boba as he could, which was proving difficult.

* * *

Dad was _heavy_.

Boba did his best to keep him standing, but it was getting harder every second.

"_Come_…_on_.." He grunted out as he started pushing his sick father to the bed. After a couple of steps it got easier, but not by much. The boy looked up at his dad's face, not liking the pained expression he had. Was he going to throw up again? He'd be green, wouldn't he? Boba frowned, realizing he'd have to go and clean up the vomit…

_Dad would do it for me_, he thought as the bed grew closer. _Dad_ has _done it for me._

Boba carefully removed one of his arms from his father's waist, using it to push him on the bed. At first it seemed to be working. When he lowered him closer to the bed, though, it got harder to keep ahold of his father's much larger form. Boba's arm slipped away from his dad, and he fell on the bed, his legs halfway off.

"Sorry," Boba whispered as he crawled on the bed. There was no response, which made Boba even more nervous. He grabbed his father's legs and began pulling them all the way on the bed. That was easier than he thought it was going to be. Boba gave himself a short moment to catch his breath before he began taking the rest of his dad's armor off. He had just started on his chest plates when he had stood so suddenly…

_I've never seen dad sick_, he thought as he looked at his father's flushed face. It was weird seeing his dad throw up. He didn't even _know_ his dad could get sick! Grown-ups weren't supposed to get sick…

…which is why his dad being sick worried him. If grown-ups got sick it was _serious_. Boba placed his hand on his dad's forehead, then his neck. He hadn't cooled off at all. If anything he had gotten warmer! Moving around did that, though, when _he_ was sick. Boba remembered once, when he had a fever, he had gone to his room to "sleep". His dad had agreed to it, letting him go. Boba actually wanted to play, but he didn't tell his dad that – that'd be stupid. He had played for a while, not really feeling bad. Then his dad walked in, and playtime was over.

After he had been put in bed – his father's bed, so he could keep an eye on him – Boba felt even _worse_ than he had before. His fever had gone up, too.

_But dad wasn't moving around that much._ Boba frowned, looking toward the bathroom. His frown deepened as realization hit him. _Oh, yeah…he threw up though._ That made anyone feel bad. It probably didn't help fevers, either.

Boba decided to try to remove the rest of the armor, and _then_ clean up the bathroom. He had to make his dad comfortable first. He sat up on his knees, sitting above his dad's head. Boba then began to push his dad's body up by his shoulders so he could pull off the chest plates; they were attached to his thick, protective under-shirt. It was kind of easy, actually.

Boba finished pulling off the armor and set it on the floor beside the bed. He looked at his dad's unmoving form, seeing what was left to take off. He started a mental list starting from his feet.

_Boots, leg armor…_ Boba felt his eyes widen as he started at his father's lower mid-section. _How_ was he going to get _that_ off?

_I should wake him up for that…_ Boba nudged his father's shoulder, hoping he'd wake up. He did, and instantly sat up, looking around the room like he was searching for something.

"What – what happened..?" He asked, looking down at Boba.

Boba began to answer, but stopped when his father fell back flat on his back. His eyes were so shiny. It made Boba anxious.

"I…I need you to help with something." Boba reluctantly said.

Bleary eyes met his. "What's wrong? Are you alright?"

Boba shook his head, wondering why his dad wasn't worried about himself. "Could you take off your…_armor_." The boy didn't know how to say it, but anything sounded better than _crotch_ armor.

It was strange seeing his dad so confused – it didn't take long for realization to sink in, though. He sat up, and began removing the said _armor_. Boba took it, and placed it with the rest of his father's armor beside the bed. He started for his belt when a large hand grabbed his wrist. Boba looked up, confused.

"Let me do it; you've done enough." Boba liked seeing his dad smile, but not at that moment. He was trying to get him to listen to him. Boba wasn't having it.

"No." Boba removed his wrist from his dad's fingers and began unfastening the belt. He pulled it off with one hard tug and looked at his dad, hoping he wasn't angry.

* * *

Jango didn't like his son telling him _no_. He was about to tell him so when the dizziness started again. Jango lay back down and pulled a hand over his eyes. _Dammit…_

What was wrong with him? _Was_ he ill? What was he ill _with_? Jango took deep, steadying breaths. He stopped when he realized he was getting dizzier. He could _feel_ the heat rolling off his skin – or, what skin was showing. He still had on his body suit.

"Armor's off," Boba said as he sat back at his side. Jango looked up through his hand, realizing he hadn't even felt him take his boots and leg armor off.

Jango smiled as best he could. "Thanks."

Boba nodded before hopping off the bed. Jango sat up, watching his son move across the room to the bathroom. What was he doing? The boy stepped in the bathroom – over the puddle of vomit – and the sound of a cabinet opening could be heard. He shut it, and turned on the faucet. Realization hit Jango, and he started to get off the bed.

"Boba, I – "

The movement was too much. He fell back down, feeling completely drained. "I'll…clean that," he managed as he forced his eyes to stay open.

"Don't move!" Boba ordered from the bathroom. "I got it."

Jango stared at the ceiling, too weak to voice a response. It was sad that his son had to take care of his sorry carcass. He was doing a good job, though. Jango felt his eyelids growing heavy and fought to stay awake.

He lost that battle.

* * *

Boba saw his dad had finally fallen out. He had finished cleaning the bathroom, and washing his hands, so he climbed on the bed again. He stared at his father's chest as it moved up and down with every breath. The boy moved his eyes to gaze at his face. Boba frowned. Dad didn't seem very peaceful, but at least he was resting.

_His fever's not going down.._ Boba had placed his hand on his father's forehead again. He moved his hand up to the top of his head feeling his hair. He remembered when he was little – _really _little – he would run his hands through his dad's hair when he got the chance.

It was soothing. Boba wondered if it was as much for his dad as it was for him. He doubted it. It probably got on his dad's nerves…

Boba stopped, not wanting to seem like a baby. He had to take care of his dad, not himself. He stood from the bed, grabbed one end of the neatly tucked in sheets and somehow pulled them from under his father's sleeping form without having to tug too hard. Boba pulled the covers over his dad, taking a seat at the end of the bed when he was finished.

Boba watched as his dad pulled the covers closer, trying to keep warm. _Why are you cold when you have a fever? Fevers make you hot…_ Boba never understood that. He absently wondered if he should have given his dad the covers. When he had a high fever, his dad would keep him uncovered, letting his body cool down. Had he messed up? What should he do?

"_Boba_.."

Boba stiffened at the sound of his name. He looked at his dad, wondering if he was awake. _No_, he thought. _Dad doesn't say my name like that._ He sounded…hurt. Was he hurting? Where would he be hurting?

"Don't…_don't_.." He continued, sounding even more pained. He was shaking his head from side to side. Boba panicked and crawled closer.

"Dad," he started, grabbing his shoulder. A low moan emitted from his throat, and Boba felt his panic skyrocket. "_Dad_."

His eyes shot open, and Boba let go of his shoulder. "Boba? What's wrong?"

"You…" Boba stopped when he realized how worried he must have looked. He tried to not seem as worried as he continued. "You said my name, so I got closer and…"

He lifted his arm, inviting Boba to lie beside him. The boy wasn't too sure; someone had to be awake to make sure he was ok. Boba shook his head, hoping he wouldn't get in trouble for saying no again.

"I need to watch you," he explained. His dad smiled and kept his arm up. Boba bit his lip, wondering what he should do.

"I'm ok now," he said, sounding tired. "And besides, it's _way_ past your bedtime."

Boba sat where he was for a few more moments, still unsure. What if he needed him and he couldn't help because he was asleep instead of watching him? What if –

A huge yawn escaped Boba's mouth. Ok, maybe he _was_ tired, but…he needed to watch dad…

* * *

Jango felt Boba's small form press into his and he couldn't help but smile. He was still dizzy, but sleep could fix that. His fever would go down eventually, too. He wasn't particularly worried about that at the moment. He felt his son's soft hair against the nape of his neck and he placed his chin on top of his head.

"You still have a fever," Boba said as one of his hands touched Jango's chest.

Jango shut his eyes. "It'll pass."

"You sure?" He was starting to sound tired. Jango nodded, or, as much as he could with his chin pressed against Boba's head.

"Positive."

"You're not gonna throw up anymore?"

Jango sighed. "No." Or, he _thought_ he wasn't going to anymore. His son didn't need to know that, though. He was already feeling better – despite the dizziness and fever – so whatever he had would hopefully pass quickly. The worst was probably already over.

"Thank you," he said as he felt sleep pull at his eyes.

Boba shifted slightly, getting more comfortable.

"You'd do it for me."

End

* * *

(...heh, heh…I have no excuses here. My motivation for this story was "Did Jango love his son?". I believe he did. You've gotta love someone you've _raised_ since a baby! Sure he was an apprentice and whatnot but I think Jango saw him as a son after a little while. Also, it's fucking adorable to think about so bite me. lol!

I hope you found something enjoyable about this fluff ball! It was fun to write! I might write another one…I dunno. We'll see how you guys like it.)

Red


End file.
